Tag: architecture

Temple on a Mountainside, Kyoto

Located in the foothills around Mt. Otowa to the east of Kyoto, Kiyomizu-dera Temple overlooks modern Kyoto. The temple was established in 788 CE during Japan’s Nara period, and affiliated with the venerable Hosso sect of Japanese Buddhism. Today, the monks caring for Kiyomizu-dera belong to the Kita-Hosso sect. Taken from the balcony of one of the smaller halls, this image shows the temple’s Main Hall and the pagoda in the entrance area on the far right with the city of Kyoto in the distance.

The West Gate is in the foreground with the temple’s pagoda directly in back. I am facing due east at 9:00am on an overcast morning. Why I have no photo of the larger, more impressive main gate to Kiyomizu-dera just to the left of where I am standing to take this photo is absolutely beyond me. I do, however, have a photo showing part of the main gate taken from inside the entrance with Kyoto in the distance. To the west, some blue sky has broken through the clouds.

For awhile it appeared that the day would become bright and sunny as the photos of the pagoda above and, below, of the West Gate from inside the entrance to Kiyomizu-dera suggest.

Kiyomizu-dera’s Main Hall sits on a steep incline and is supported by a wooden trellis that sets the building’s platform some 13 meters above the base of the incline below. My photo of the Main Hall does not really do justice to the building itself because I am distracted by the size of the crowd on the platform. It is no surprise that crowds of people want to visit a site like Kiyomizu-dera with its magnificent examples of Japanese temple architecture in a beautiful setting offering breathtaking views of its surroundings. I am taking the photo below at 9:45 in the morning on any old Tuesday in October. The crowd is bound to be larger by midday, and one can only imagine what happens on weekends or holidays. It is no wonder that some locales are instituting reservation systems that allow access at a specific time on a given day for popular sites with high volumes of visitors. If they are not in Japan already I would not be at all surprised to see such reservations systems arriving soon in Kyoto and elsewhere in the country. With literally billions of people able to afford relatively low-cost flights and budget tours, the problem of unsustainable over-tourism is not likely to get better in the foreseeable future.

A short way up the hillside from the main temple area, this small pagoda overlooks the Main Hall. By this time the clouds had returned and there was not much sunshine left. I did not make it all the way to the pagoda, instead turning to head down to the Otowa Waterfall at the base of the incline with the Main Hall at the top. Water is indeed falling from three pipes into a small pool, though Otowa is not what we generally think of as a waterfall. Be that as it may, Wikipedia tells us that Kiyomizu-dera means “pure water temple.” Those who drink a cupful of water from the falls are purified. I decided a single cup was unlikely to meet my needs for purification and kept on walking.

Despite the crowds of people, there were quiet spots and moments of peace for contemplation throughout the temple area.

The Japanese Bridge in the Evening

After weeks of endless cloudy days and rain, yesterday was dry, sunny and gorgeous, offering a perfect opportunity for a dinnertime stroll through the Hoi An Old Town. The recently refurbished Japanese Bridge – it was built in the 16th century by a community of Japanese traders living in the area – looks great, all clean and shiny and lit up in the evening.

Inari: Shinto Deity of Sake, Kyoto

The Fushimi Inari Taisha in Kyoto is the principal shrine in Japan for the Shinto deity Inari. In fairness to the deity, I should add that, in addition to being the deity of sake, Inari is also the Shinto spirit for agriculture and rice, and is associated with prosperity and worldly success. The shrine was first established in 711 CE, but it was one hundred years later that it moved to its current location. The entrance to the shrine area is on the outskirts of Kyoto at the base of a small mountain, the peak of which is 233 meters about sea level. The shrine’s main buildings are located near the entrance, and beyond this area are several trails leading from the entrance to the summit of the mountain with a number of smaller shrines to Inari along the paths.

The photo at the top of the page shows the main entrance to the shrine—the Romon or Two-Storied Gate. The Romon faces west and, as I approach, glows in the late afternoon sun of a dazzling October day. Below is the Romon from the other side after passing through the entrance. The shrine’s website (https://inari.jp/en/) notes that the gate was built in 1589 by a powerful samurai and feudal lord (daimyo) named Toyotomi Hideyoshi.

The view of the Romon after walking through the gate; the afternoon sun is directly behind the building.

I arrived at Fushimi Inari Taisha shortly after four in the afternoon. Already a bit worn out from a long day, I walked around the main shrine area near the entrance, but did not make it to the top of the mountain. Fushimi Inari Taisha is, perhaps, best known for the Senborn Torii, more than 800 brightly painted vermilion torii placed close together and forming a sort of tunnel that winds part of the way up the mountain. Altogether, there are thousands of torii donated by worshipers in the main shrine area and along the paths leading to the top of the mountain. (For more about torii: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Torii.) I had planned to walk through the Senborn Torii, but when I got to the beginning of the walkway and saw the crowd of people already walking inside, I changed my mind. Not much tranquility or peace of mind to be found on that walk, or so it seemed to me.

All of the shrines and temples I visited in Japan were beautifully preserved and diligently cared for; Fushimi Inari Taisha was no exception. The first of the images that follow is of the Honden—the Main Shrine. I tried to get a closer, more revealing view of this building, but each time I composed a photo one or more visitors planted themselves in such a way that they blocked a key part of the composition. It had already been a long day, and after a few tries, I settled for the photo I had and moved on.

Probably the Gonden—I have no information about this building near the entrance of the Inari shrine.

I’m going with an incense burner until someone tells me otherwise.

Around 5:30 or so both of my feet put themselves down and said, “Enough is enough, time to go.” I was dragging, and it was indeed time to head back to my hotel. After walking through the Two-Storied Gate headed for the metro stop, I turned for a final look at Fushimi Inari Taisha. What I saw was a lot of people many of whom were also on their way out, and in the background, the roof of the old guard house next to the main gate.

Visitors come and go at the entrance to the Shinto shrine Fushimi Inari Taisha.

I turned away and headed in the direction of the metro down the narrow street full of people and lined with shops.

This narrow street eventually ends at the entrance to Japan Rail’s Inari station.

To-ji, an Ancient Kyoto Temple

Early Monday morning, my first day in Kyoto, I set out on foot, walking to the To-ji Temple about 2km from my hotel. To-ji was established in 796 CE shortly after Japan’s imperial capital moved to Kyoto from Nara. It was one of only three temples allowed in the new capital city.

The buildings in the temple compound, built of wood that was darkly stained, were magnificent. Though the designs of the buildings are similar to temples I have seen in China, I have come across nothing comparable to this unpainted, natural wood style in temples elsewhere in the region. The photo above is of the Kondo, To-ji’s Main Hall. The original structure in this location was destroyed by fire; this reconstruction was completed in 1603. One of the pieces I read about To-ji says the Kondo incorporates elements of an Indian temple design style.

I choose this temple, in part, because I could walk to the site. The main Kyoto rail station that was near my hotel is the city’s transportation hub. Not only does it offer bullet train service to other parts of Japan, there are also half a dozen or maybe more urban rail systems that originate in or pass through Kyoto station. The place is enormous and both the station and the surrounding area are crowded with people, as I discovered when I arrived in the city late on a Sunday afternoon. I did not feel like figuring out how to navigate the city’s public transit system, with its multiple providers, to get to another site on a dazzling October morning. A quick check of Google Maps indicated To-ji Temple was in easy walking distance, and a quick look at Wikipedia suggested it was worth a visit. Both were correct.

The southern gate of To-ji that opens directly in front of the Main Hall is another impressive natural wood structure. To-ji rendered in Japanese, as seen on the two white lanterns, is 東寺, which means “east temple.” The two characters have the same meaning in Chinese, though the words in the two spoken languages do not sound the same at all. At one time there was a “west temple” near To-ji, but it was destroyed at some point in the past.

The Kodo or the Lecture Hall sits behind the Main Hall. The first building on this site was completed in the 9th century CE. The present Lecture Hall, which retains the design of the original was completed in 1491.

I arrived at To-ji Temple a bit before 8 in the morning; it was a beautiful day, a delightful opportunity to stroll the grounds when there was virtually nobody else around. The Main Hall and the Lecture Hall are fenced off, you cannot get close to them without a ticket, something I did not realize when I walked into the compound. I eventually found a ticket office and bought a ticket that gave me access to a garden with a five story pagoda in its midst, and the main temple buildings. Upon entering the ticketed area, I immediately went down a rabbit hole that I hoped would lead me to a vantage point that allowed me to photograph the pagoda without shooting directly into the morning sun at the same time. I failed; the vantage point for morning color photography was to the south outside of the compound.

After I settled for some disappointing shots of the pagoda, I left To-ji and headed back towards the train station area. Having purchased a ticket that gave me access to the central temple compound, why I left when I did instead of doubling back and taking a closer look at the main temple buildings is absolutely beyond me. This trip convinced me that my approach to the kind of travel photography I like is too erratic and undisciplined. More research in advance of going to a site I may very well only visit once would help me walk away with a folder of photos that has a chance of capturing what the site is about.

Back at home in the digital darkroom, I eventually gave up trying to process color images of the pagoda. With the sun more or less in my face, I could bring out virtually no detail at all of the building itself. It was just undifferentiated shadow. I got better results when I converted the images to black and white.

Senso-ji: a Buddhist Masterpiece

The venerable Senso-ji Buddhist temple (officially Kinryū-zan Sensō-ji (金龍山浅草寺)) is located in the Asakusa area of downtown Tokyo. The photo above (follow the link for more of this beautiful compound) shows Hozomon (the Treasure House Gate) that provides an entrance to the main temple; it is flanked by Senso-ji’s five story pagoda on the left.

Founded in 645 CE, Senso-ji is the oldest established temple in Tokyo. The temple is dedicated to the bodhisattva Kannon (観音菩薩), called Guanyin in Chinese; this beloved Buddhist deity is associated with compassion. Senso-ji is one of Japan’s most important Buddhist temples and one of the country’s most popular tourist attractions. In fact the Wikipedia entry for Senso-ji informs us that “it is the most widely visited religious site in the world with over 30 million visitors annually.” For what it is worth, there was no shortage of visitors on the day I went.

Tourists who have arrived at Senso-ji before the crowds line up to take photos in front of Kaminarimon

The first gate, the street side entrance that one passes through on the way to the inner compound, is Kaminarimon (the Thunder Gate) . When I arrived at around 8:20 in the morning, tourists were beginning to trickle into the compound. Before heading inside quite a few people were waiting in line along the street for the chance to get an unobstructed photo of themselves standing dead center in front of the gate. There were a few solo travelers taking selfies, but it was mostly couples who would switch off, each taking two or three photos of their mate. A few people got a bit carried away, but the line remained orderly and people were impeccably polite. It was actually rather charming to watch. The photo below is the same scene as seen from inside the gate just before I turned my back and set off towards Hozomon.

The view of tourist lined up for photos from inside Kaminarimon

It is worth noting that none of the buildings one sees today within the large compound date back to the temple’s founding. The temple area was leveled in a March, 1945, bombing raid towards the end of WWII. Today’s buildings are reconstructions completed for the most part in the 1950s and 1960s. Wartime destruction was not the first time parts of Senso-ji were devastated; buildings within the compound have been destroyed by fire on numerous occasions during the 1700 years of Senso-ji’s existence.

The two images above are both of Hozomon, the second of the gates between the entrance to the compound and the main temple of Senso-ji. In the first, I am facing the front of the gate as I walk towards the main temple. It is about 8:30am and the October sun is still fairly low in the sky behind my right shoulder. I took the second image from the top of the steps leading into the main temple. This side of the gate faces north; the sun is in front of me and to my left. Though it does not bring me level with the roof, my elevation shows how steep that roof is, and how it dominates the building below it.

I have lived in East and Southeast Asia for some 35 years now and have visited lots of Buddhist temples during those years, in China, Taiwan, Hong Kong, Vietnam, Thailand, Cambodia, and now Japan. Some of these have been large, wealthy and well-known, some draw crowds of tourists, but many have been small and unknown to all but the monks and nuns that call them home and the devout Buddhists that they serve. Buddhist temples and pagodas in Japan are similar in some respects to their counterparts in China, but Japanese design is strikingly different in other ways. The roofs of the buildings, in particular, are very steep and they project out quite far from the actual building. Japanese multi-storied pagodas like the one in Senso-ji are unique, I have seen nothing like them elsewhere in my travels. I am not familiar with the terminology used to describe architectural designs and features, so it is best to let the photos speak for themselves.

The magnificent five story pagoda at Senso-ji.

I am disappointed in myself that I do not have more images of the main temple building and the area around it. One of the lessons of this and other visits to well-known destinations in Japan is that my approach as a photographer to these places needs to be better organized and more disciplined. As I look through the folder of Senso-ji images, I not only see what is there, but also a number of images that are missing.

By the time I left Senso-ji shortly after 11am, any semblance of order at the Kaminarimon gate had disappeared as crowds of visitors headed inside to see the temple compound.

Being the world’s most visited religious site has its drawbacks, or so it seems to me.

A Neighborhood Stroll, Tokyo

On my third day in Tokyo, I woke up to a beautiful sunny morning. I decided to walk the two kilometers to Senso-ji, a venerable Buddhist temple founded some 1700 years ago, and the one of Tokyo’s premier tourist attractions that was in easy walking distance from my hotel. I set out shortly after 7:30am with my camera and Google Maps’ directions on my phone to stroll through the Taito City district of Tokyo.

The part of Taito City that I saw was a pleasant but rather non-descript urban residential area. The term “non-descript” is not intended as a criticism; it simply notes that the area had none of the urban glitter that Tokyo is famous for, nor was it an area with lots of traditional architecture that took me back to a distant past. The streets were lined with simple … and perhaps this is a better choice of words … unremarkable low rise buildings that people lived in. The streets and sidewalks were spotlessly clean and adequate, but not expansive; there were very few trees or greenery along the way. In short, Taito City appeared to be a no-frills neighborhood that had a lot of people living together in a limited amount of space.

About halfway to Senso-ji, I came across Matsuba Park, a bit of green space with some shade, some benches, and a small playground area for kids. Nothing fancy, but pleasant nonetheless. There was an information board in the park explaining that Matsuba Park was part of the municipal planning response to the Great Kanto Earthquake of 1923. City officials noted that green spaces and parks in the city acted as firebreaks that helped to control the fires that ravaged Tokyo after the earthquake. This small park is one 52 parks Tokyo built in the aftermath of the earthquake to help contain the spread of large fires, and to improve quality of life in neighborhoods throughout the city.

Japan’s capital city only took on the name Tokyo in 1868 during the reign of the Emperor Meiji. For those interested in such things, in the written Japanese language Tokyo is 東京, two characters originally from Chinese that mean in that language “eastern capital.” This name compliments the names of two important Chinese cities: 北京 (Beijing, northern capital) and 南京 (Nanjing, southern capital). Be that as it may, prior to 1868 Tokyo was named Edo, the city that served as the seat of government for the Tokugawa Shogunate that ruled Japan from 1603 until the Meiji Restoration began after Emperor Meiji ascended to the throne in 1867.

The resting place of the Tamagawa brothers in Tokyo.

As I walked through Taito City, I came across one traditional building secluded behind a gate that reminded me of Tokyo’s long history. This quiet site houses the tombstones and graves of two brothers whose engineering work on behalf of the Shogunate in 1653 helped to alleviate water shortages in Edo. In recognition of their contributions, the Shogunate awarded the brothers a small parcel of land and gave them an honorary surname. After the brothers passed away towards the end of the 17th century, they were laid to rest at this site. The original structure was destroyed by the Great Kanto Earthquake; the building pictured here is a reconstruction. The plaque in front of the gate, with its brief introduction to the Tamagawa brothers, contains another, and I suspect unintended, reminder of Japan’s history. The municipal government provisionally designated the building a historic site in 1924; it was not until 1955 that the designation was formalized.

As I got closer to Senso-ji, houses and apartment building began giving way to more street-level commercial buildings and activity. I would arrive at the temple soon.

Meiji Jingu: On Sacred Ground

Meiji Jingu Ichino Torii is pictured here. Gates like this are called torii and are found throughout Japan at the entrances and within Shinto shrines. As entrance ways, torii mark the spot where visitors pass from the mundane world of humanity to the sacred ground of the shrine. The torii shown here stands at the entrance to the Meiji Jingu (明治神宮) in Tokyo, one of Japan’s most important shrines honoring the spirits of the Emperor Meiji and the Empress Shoken, his wife. After passing beneath the torii, one walks through a breathtakingly beautiful wooded area before approaching the shrine itself several hundred meters from the entrance.

Born in the sequestered imperial compound in Kyoto in 1852, Emperor Meiji ascended to the throne in 1867 and ruled until his death in 1912. “Meiji” is not the birth name of the young man who became the emperor of Japan at age 15; rather it is his reign or era name that was assigned to his reign in 1868. A tradition that originated in China more than 2000 years ago, the Japanese have adopted and adapted the era name concept to suit their own purposes. Since I am definitely not up to speed about how this complicated scheme actually works, suffice it to say that imperial era names serve as a kind of calendar, allowing historical events to be dated by the year of the reign era in which they occur. This system remains in use today in Japan.

A man cleans the sacred path with a song by Empress Shoken and a poem by Emperor Meiji in the background.

Meiji’s reign encompassed a period of rapid change and transformation in Japan. For hundreds of years prior to his ascending the throne, Japanese emperors lived in seclusion in Kyoto where their functions were ceremonial; they took no part in actually ruling the islands we call Japan. Political power was in the hands of a Shogun supported by feudal vassals called Daimyo. Pre-Meiji Japan was a closed society that had limited contact with nearby China and Korea, and even less with peoples elsewhere in the world. Foreign traders were limited to doing business in a single city: Nagasaki.

As a schoolboy, I learned of how in 1852 President Millard Fillmore dispatched US Navy Commodore Matthew Perry to Japan at the head of a squadron of gunboats, his mission to demand that the Japanese open their country to US trade. We were taught to be proud of this example of our country fulfilling its Manifest Destiny, how it illustrated the growing power of the United States in world affairs, and our civilizing influence that brought progress to a benighted, backward land. I have no idea if American school children today learn about the “opening of Japan” and, if they do, how this story is presented. I do know that I now view the tale of Commodore Perry as an early example of arrogant American militarism and imperial designs bent on imposing American power on another people.

This tea house, located in a quiet garden off the wooded path leading to Meiji Jingu, was built by Emperor Meiji for his wife Empress Shoken.

In the event, Japan’s isolated, closed system was destabilized by Perry’s arrival and the threat inherent in the steam-powered warships he brought with him. His visit and those of various Europeans during this time period led to internal turmoil and finally helped to trigger great changes that began with Emperor Meiji’s ascension to the throne. His 45 year reign is referred to as the Meiji Restoration, and during Meiji’s reign the emperor emerged from seclusion and began taking a direct part in the governing of Japan. Beginning its pursuit of modernity with a mature, highly sophisticated culture and society, but well behind the United States and the great powers of Europe with respect to science and technology, Japan developed into an industrial and military powerhouse in a matter several decades. Japan’s rapid rise to great power status was one of many factors that set the world on a path to devastating global conflict in the first half of the 20th century.

**Mejii Jingu.**
The original shrine was destroyed by bombing at the end of WWII. This majestic reconstruction was completed in 1958.

Initially, it was advisers of the young emperor driving change, but as Emperor Meiji aged, he became directly involved in decision making. Not long before heading to Japan, I bought Emperor of Japan: Meiji and His World, 1852–1912, a book by the late Donald Keene, a preeminent American scholar of Japanese literature, culture, and history. Keene’s introduction to the book suggests Meiji was a complex man, enigmatic in many respects, whose life and historical record are very difficult to assess. One thing is certain: Professor Keene went to great lengths in his effort to understand Emperor Meiji. The digital edition of the book weighs in at about 950 pages, and while I am definitely interested, so far I have not gotten up the gumption to dive in.

Morning Sun Shines on Tokyo Towers

My Tokyo hotel was in the Ueno area of the city. It was a walk of several minutes to beautiful Ueno Park, which is home to several prestigious museums, a zoological garden, Shinobazu Pond, the surface of which is completely covered in lotus plants, lovely tree-lined paths, and what seems to be obligatory in Japan’s public parks, at least one Buddhist pagoda and a small Shinto shrine.

To get to the park from my hotel, I walked through Ueno Station, a huge public transportation hub where more than a dozen subway and rail lines serving various parts of metro Tokyo come together allowing transfers. Tokyo has an extensive municipal metro/subway system that I assume is publicly owned; several lines serve Ueno. In addition to operating the inter-city Shinkansen (bullet trains) and other long distances trains, Japan Rail also operates urban commuter rail systems, and some of its Tokyo lines pass through Ueno. JR consists of a complicated mix of regional companies, some government entities, others privately owned. Don’t ask me to explain how this works, because I have no clue. Finally, several other commuter rail lines that serve Tokyo run into Ueno Station, and I assume these are privately owned.

The sheer size of Tokyo makes dealing with public transportation in the city daunting, and figuring out how to get from point A to point B can be more than a little confusing to a visitor. If you need convincing, search “Tokyo subway map” online and take a look what comes up. The good news: larger stations have information desks staffed with people who will point you in the right direction to get a train to your destination. Even better news: You can pay modest fares to get virtually anywhere in metro Tokyo on surface or underground trains. Trains run frequently (during the day and into the evening, I never waited more than 3 or 4 minutes, usually less), service is reliable (I experienced one brief delay, 2 or 3 minutes, during two weeks loaded with multiple trips on public rail in Japan), train cars are clean and well-maintained, and while crowded at times, the crowds compare favorably to crowds I have experienced on metro systems elsewhere in the world. If you are an American reading this and are not wondering why passenger rail service of all kinds in the United States is so pathetically bad, you should be.

I joined a couple of Japan travel groups on Facebook to help me plan my trip. Some of the more amusing threads featured questions about how to use public transportation in Tokyo and which of the various pass cards for tourists is best. These cards, of which there appear to be two primary competitors amidst a larger field, allow users access to trains in Tokyo (and in some cases, elsewhere in Japan) by swiping the card to get through turnstiles, avoiding having to buy individual tickets for each ride. You put a certain amount of money into the card, and can top up the card as needed. The two primary cards offer similar if not quite identical services and at least one, maybe both, can be used to buy goods and services other than rail travel, not unlike Hong Kong’s Octopus Card, if you happen to know it. There are various rules about returning the cards to recoup any unspent money that remains in the card. The amount of angst many people had about which of the two cards to buy, and which would cost more or less money produced comment threads that were downright hilarious in some cases. Here you had people who were spending considerable amounts of money for air travel and accommodations working themselves into an absolute lather about whether card A or card B would save them a bit of money during a 10 day stay in Japan. Pro tip: Think big picture, a few bucks more or less is not going to matter. Take a deep breath. Relax.

I quickly gave up on trying figure out either of the two top-up cards, and for roughly $10 purchased a 72 hour Tokyo Metro pass with unlimited rides on the municipal system. Tokyo subways took me everywhere I wanted to go in Tokyo, or perhaps more precisely, everywhere I had time to visit during a brief stay. In a couple of cases, I could have gotten off a bit closer to my destination if I had had a card that allowed me to take more than just Metro trains. I survived to tell the tale and there was zero angst attached to the decision to buy the Metro 72 hour pass. For the record, I also saved money going this route. The $10 card offers 72 hours of unlimited rides for that price; the top-up cards charge “retail” price for each ticket, you just don’t have to stop to buy a ticket each trip. So, there.

The area around the Ueno station is packed with restaurants, from ramen shops to fine dining, and there is plenty of shopping as well, if you are so inclined. All in all, unbeknownst to me when I booked the hotel using Agoda, the Ueno area was a great choice of location for my five day visit to Tokyo.

The image is taken from the shore of Shinobazu Pond; the lotus plants that cover the surface of the pond are barely visible in the bottom left foreground of the image. See below for a better look at the pond. The traditional building is a reconstruction of a 17th century Buddhist pagoda. It is mid-morning of my third day in Tokyo and the sunshine on the three high-rise buildings suggested to me that the showers and clouds were ready to give way to sunny autumn weather. It turned out that assessment was overly optimistic. But more on that later.

Windows on the World, Vienna

St. Nikolaus Church, Innsbruck, Austria

I spent an October day in Innsbruck, Austria, a chance to relax in between larger, more demanding travel venues. The small city is beautiful, featuring plenty of scenic vistas provided by the Tyrolean Alps, more monuments to the Hapsburgs, and good food and beverages. I did little more than wander around for a day, but was in town long enough to get this postcard cliche shot of a lovely Gothic church in late afternoon light with the rugged Alps in the background.